


In Which Dave And Gamzee Have A Heart-To-Heart

by lbk_princen



Category: Homestuck
Genre: ?????, Brief Descriptive Gore, Gamzee Being The Terrifying Overprotective Moirail Is One Of My Favourite Things Do Not Look At Me, Gamzee Makara and Karkat Vantas Moirallegiance, Threats And Intimidation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 04:38:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3796963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lbk_princen/pseuds/lbk_princen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dave Strider, and for some reason no matter who you try to get your mack on with, one clown in particular seems determined to ruin it. "It" being your love life. Luckily, you think you can tolerate him this time around because at least this time the mouth you hope to kiss also isn't kissing <em>his.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Dave And Gamzee Have A Heart-To-Heart

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are just sitting in the library, listening to music and minding your own business, when your large-figure-standing-behind-you-attack-impending senses go off like ninety. It’s a sense that’s saved your ass more than a couple times during the years you spent living with Bro, aka thirteen of fifteen of them. Anyway you rocket up out of your chair and whirl around, already in a fighting stance, to see none other than murderclown hatestud Makara standing uncomfortably close to the chair you had just been occupying. What a fucking creep.

“The hell do _you_ want,” you say, dropping the fighting stance and immediately regretting it. You keep your fists clenched and your posture tense, ready to defend yourself at moment’s notice.

“I just wanted to up and have know on of what intentions you got of my bro Karkat, is all,” he says, and for every word that comes out of his mouth the desire to strangle him (or yourself) with your cape gets a little stronger. His hair is noticeably longer than it was the last time you saw him, which you think must have been at least a year ago- maybe even when the meteor was first launched. He doesn’t exactly socialise. His hair is long and tangled, his horns tall and menacing. The neatly applied clown paint almost-but-not-quite covers the three long scars that cross his face.

“What do you mean by _intentions_ ,” you say, and you tell yourself that the hostility is because he’s a jerk, not because his presence causes every hair on your body to stand up stiff.

Gamzee stays where he is, behind the chair, perfectly still. Then he chuckles quietly to himself, like what you said was some sort of joke that you aren’t in on. “What I just want to  know, brother,” his voice like steel grating on steel augh, “is what Karbro up and is to you, what you hope to up and motherfucking be to _him_.” His eyes are half-lidded, but alert and clear of any haze. Where on a normal troll there is yellow, on his eyes is an unsettling orangey colour, and his irises are deep blue, so blue they’re nearly purple.

“Jesus Christ, why the fuck does it matter to you? I get that you’re his pet clown slash hands-off boyfriend or whatever-” he growls deep in his throat and you fight of the shivers that are trying to crawl down your spine “-but I’m not angling for the ‘quadrant’ he’s got you in so what the hell.”

“Here’s the thing, _brother_.” Gamzee steps around the chair, steps toward you. You hate yourself for stepping back. (He’s so tall what the fuck at least half a foot taller than you and his limbs are so long and bony he looks like a skeleton blargh as if he wasn’t creepy enough) “If you was to aim to use them blasphemous dull-tipped flesh nubs of yours to up and pry into his tiny motherfucking torso and pull out his miraculous little red bloodpusher-” as he talks he takes a couple more long-legged steps in your direction. Your field of vision shrinks until its him just him and he’s huge he’s never-ending his hair coils like snakes and his eyes burn like red-hot coals and you wonder if this is the “chucklevoodoos” you’ve been told about.

“Ew,” you say, because deadpan is always your go-to.

He growls again and this time when he speaks his voice is like nails on a chalkboard and you want to die you want to die you- “There’ll be _Gamzee motherfucking Makara_ written there in purple motherfucking ink.” He’s so close to you now, his presence prickling every ‘nope’ receptor in your entire being; if you were a cat you’d be doing that cartoonish ‘tiptoes-back-arched-every-hair-a-pointy-bristle’ thing. “That motherfucking boy is mine before all else,” Gamzee hisses, and you’re proud of yourself for not pissing your pants on the spot. Fear has wrapped itself around you like clammy hands around your neck, and you are so close to losing your shit and punching him in the face.

“That is hells of creepy and possessive, dude.” Your voice shakes. Fuck. You swallow and try to keep talking. “Seriously, do you have nothing better to do than fucking cockblock me all the time? First with Terezi and now with Karkat. You didn’t pull this ‘mine before all else’ bee ess with Rezi, so what the fuck gives?”

Another low, grating chuckle, accompanied by a tongue-cluck and a shake of the head, as if the joke is just so far over your head that it only makes it more funny for him. You are suddenly reminded how much you fucking hate this guy. “Cos I ain’t have a shit to up and give about poor old Terecita. _Not a shit to be given, you motherfucking GET?_ ” His voice raises about a decibel in volume and this time you do flinch. Gamzee seems to settle a bit, grinning lazily at you as he continues. “She’s my spade, you get? If youse all and break her motherfucking heart and all, well it ain’t no skin off my motherfuckin’ _teeth_ , y’dig, bro?” On the word ‘teeth’, he snaps his together (big huge fangs so sharp could kill you in a second fuck fuck fuck) and you’re so completely uncomfortable with how close they are to your person. “But Karkat…. well he’s my motherfucking _diamond._ My best love, my care and comfort, my safe and motherfucking _secure._ And I weren’t about to have him have his heart up and torn to pieces by some lowlife _disgusting_ mutant filth BLASPHOMOUS _ALIEN MOTHERFUCKER_ ,” your back is against the wall he’s got you against the wall that gruesome pointed alien face with his scars and his angry-blazing orange-and-purple eyes and his huge mass of hair and his next two words send shockwaves of nauseating terror through you- “ ** _WEREN’T I?_** ”

“GAMZEE!”

In all of a second it stops. The murderclown standing over you (less looming now, he seems sort of smaller somehow) has a mask of surprise on his face, and he’s mercifully turned away from you. Karkat is standing in the doorway, practically shitting fury, and you have never been so happy to see him in your whole life.

“Gamzee _fucking_ Makara, you step the fuck away from him right this instant.” Karkat starts marching towards the two of you, arms crossed. Gamzee wilts, like a puppy who just got told off, and slinks away from you. He glances over his shoulder at you and you applaud yourself internally for not flinching. You’re sweating and kind of shaking, but at least you aren’t ready to puke from sheer fright anymore. Baby steps. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Karkat asks, small hands hovering over your shoulders, hesitant to touch you. You shake your head and take one of his hands in your own.

“Nah, I’m cool,” you say, and your voice only shakes a little bit. The worry on Karkat’s face lifts some.

“Good. Then I won’t feel guilty for doing this.” He uses his other hand to smack you in the arm, and in your spooked state you yelp and jump. He pulls his hand away from yours and puts both his on his hips, full rant mode at the ready. “What the fuck were you doing, riling him up? Are you _trying_ to make my job harder? Do you have a _death wish?!_ ”

“No! What the fuck, Karkat, he came to _me_!” Karkat seems a bit affronted by this. “Why the fuck would I want to rile him up? Even if I did, how the hell would I find him, he lives in the fucking vents!”

“Just gotta follow the honks, bro,” Gamzee advises, then demonstrates by saying “ _Honk_ ” in a quiet, grating sort of tone that sends prickles of discomfort through your whole body. Boy, do you hate that clown.

Karkat sighs and massages his forehead. “Alright, fine. You’re the victim, I believe you.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks.”

“You,” he says, rounding on Gamzee, “On the other hand, have some fucking explaining to do.” The clown gives another honk, but quieter and sort of chagrined. You lean back against the wall and cross your arms, still calming down but completely willing to watch Karkat chew him out.

Instead of chewing him out, Karkat looks at you over his shoulder expectantly, _blush_ of all things spreading across his face. “What?” you say.

“You expect me to sort out my moirail with _you_ watching?” he demands, as if it should be obvious as to why this offends his delicate maidenly sensibilities.

“Uh,” you say.

Karkat groans. “Are all humans this depraved? Fucking _honestly_. Just. Leave, please. We can talk later.”

“What? No way, man. I was here first.”

“ _Dave,_ ” Karkat says, and his tone plus the look he gives you is enough to persuade you.

“Alright, alright, jeez. I’ll go.” You push off the wall, but the music you were listening to is still on the chair you were sitting in, and where Gamzee has decided to stand once again, so you abandon it and just leave.

As soon as the door shuts behind you, you hear Karkat start to yell, and you allow yourself a tiny smile. If putting up with the psychoatic fuckugly murderclown platonicsideboyfriend is what it takes to be with Karkat, you think that maybe you’ll take your chances.

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea all day and for once the writing gods have blessed me and allowed me to actually write the damn thing. Kudos for Overprotective Moirail Gamzee and Karkat having to deal with his giant disgusting boyfriends.


End file.
